


Let Me Draw for You the Man I See

by JinxedAmbitions



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Depression, Gen, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3153842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Steve months to build up the nerve to ask Bucky to sit for him after he finds him. It takes another month for Bucky to stoically come to Steve and tell him that he’s ready; Steve can draw him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Draw for You the Man I See

It takes Steve months to build up the nerve to ask Bucky to sit for him after he finds him. It takes another month for Bucky to stoically come to Steve and tell him that he’s ready; Steve can draw him.

Steve knows that there is a lot riding on this session. Bucky’s acceptance of himself and Steve’s help is tenuous at best, and Steve knows that looking at himself through Steve’s eyes could easily break the progress they’ve made.

But, Steve  _needs_  to draw Bucky. He needs to be able to commit to paper proof that this is all real. He needs sketches with scars and scuffed metal. He needs to be able to see all of Bucky to fully appreciate the second chance they’ve been given, or maybe it’s the third or fourth chance.

Bucky sits on the sofa in his boxers with a cup of black coffee. His favored blanket sits draped around his hips while he watches Saturday morning cartoons. He told Steve that he was allowed to draw him this morning, but he pays little attention to whether Steve’s actually taken him up on it. He’s far too concerned with the television.

Of course, Steve is sitting on the other end of the couch sketching away. At first, it feels like a breath of fresh air. It’s something he’s been missing. It just feels right. Then he hits a snag. He can’t get the angle of Buck’s jaw the way he wants it. He tries multiple times to rectify it before tearing the picture out and casting it aside.

The next sketch gets tossed when he can’t get the web of scarring on the chest to look correct. The following one, goes because he shades it all wrong; the light catches the metal just so, and he can’t seem to replicate it. 

After several hours and nearly a dozen attempts, Steve grunts and walks out of the room, completely frustrated. He bangs around in the kitchen making him and Bucky more coffee while he tries to ground himself. It feels all wrong now. Bucky can’t look at those pictures. They’d surely ruin everything if Bucky saw himself so poorly rendered.

Steve tugged at his hair with both hands before smoothing it back into place while the coffee brewed. He sighed in resignation as he poured them each another mug. He’d just go back and tell Buck they’d finish up tomorrow.

Steve wasn’t sure what he expected when he walked into the living room again, but it wasn’t to find Bucky with Steve’s stack of discarded sketches on his lap, looking at each one with tears in his eyes. Steve was sometimes an idiot.

"Damn it, Buck. You weren’t supposed to see those," Steve said sadly.

Bucky’s eyes darted up to look at Steve. He looked completely lost, and Steve wanted to fly himself into another iceberg for putting that look on Bucky’s face.

"Shit, Bucky. I’m sorry…I—"

"Is this how you see me?" Bucky asked, voice rough with emotions he hadn’t been allowed to feel in decades.

"Yes-no. I did a poor job. I got your jaw all wrong, and your nose in that one. Ugh, don’t even look at that one," Steve groaned as Bucky held the pictures up.

"Why not?"

"I got you all wrong. I guess my skills are a bit rusty. I’m sorry. I really wanted to draw you something you’d like," Steve said solemnly. He was devastated, and he wished he never asked to draw Bucky again.

"But, I do…like them," Bucky said in a small voice as one of his flesh fingers traced the drawing of his torso.

"You do?" Steve asked in disbelief. "But they’re not perfect."

"But, you made me—I look human in these," Bucky said in awe, like it never occurred to him that he was in fact human.

"Buck, you are human. You’re as human as I am, and while that may be a poor example, it’s no less true," Steve said, putting their mugs down on the coffee table, and taking the pictures from Bucky. 

Bucky tried to grab them, afraid Steve wouldn’t give them back, but Steve just pointed at the picture of Bucky’s hands cradling his mug. “You’ve always had the gentlest grip. You could cradle a baby sparrow, and it would never know it wasn’t in its nest. I think it’s ‘cause I bruised really easily before the War. You were always so careful with me,” Steve said as they looked at the picture, and even in half finished sketch, one could see the gentleness in Bucky’s touch.

Steve flipped to the picture of Bucky’s face, and laughed. “You used to get that same look when we got to listen to the radio downstairs. That little smile you didn’t even realize you were making. It was always such a treat since we couldn’t afford our own radio.”

Bucky listened with rapt attention as Steve went through each of the pictures pointing out the little quirks that were completely Bucky that Bucky never even realized about himself.

"And what about this one," Bucky finally asked when Steve finished. He held up the sketch of his arm and his scars with a challenging look.

"Buck, your arm’s a part of you. It’s not who you are. You’ve been through hell, but you’re still human," Steve said as he traced the scarring on the picture. "You’ve always been strong. You used to save me from fights I’d get myself into. You used to carry me when I was too sick to walk around the apartment. I was always in awe of your strength. So, a metal arm doesn’t really change anything. To me, you’ve always had super strength," Steve said in that completely earnest way of his.

"Don’t go getting all soppy on me, Rogers," Bucky said, shoving Steve’s shoulder playfully. 

"You asked for it," Steve retorted, still looking down at the pictures, seeing them differently than he had just a few minutes earlier.

"Yeah well, I take it back.  I want those back too," he said, trying to pull the drawings out of Steve’s hands.

"But I drew them…"

"And I sat here all nice and still for three hours watching some bizarre cartoon that made no sense.  Hand ‘em over, Stevie," Bucky insisted.

It was the most playful Bucky had sounded since he’d come to stay with Steve.  Steve knew it wouldn’t last, but it gave him hope that one day it would just be like this and the stretches of depression would be what was uncommon.  So, Steve handed over the drawings.

Bucky looked at each one before pulling the complete portrait out of the bunch. He dropped that into Steve’s lap, but kept the detailed pictures of his arm, face, and chest for himself.  Steve smiled at him as he carefully held the portrait. 

Two weeks later, after a bad stretch, Steve was surprised to see Bucky’s door open as he walked to his own.  He told himself he shouldn’t, but he glanced inside as he walked past.  He froze as he saw Bucky sitting on his bed with Steve’s drawings laid out in front of him, studying them as though he was trying to see himself in them again. 

Steve was about to keep moving when Bucky spoke. “I remember this one time that I had to carry your stubborn ass home because you were sick, but you insisted you could work. You squirmed the entire way, telling me you were fine even though you coughed between every word. I was so mad, and you were so riled up that I held you too tight, and later I saw the bruises I accidentally left on you. I promised myself I’d never mark you up again,” he said as he looked at the picture of him with the mug.  ”I did though, didn’t I?”

"That wasn’t your fault, Buck. They twisted your mind up.  They didn’t give you a choice," Steve said softly. Steve was surprised that Bucky had had such a vivid memory, but he was too afraid to show how optimistic that made him feel. He didn’t enter the room. He knew Bucky didn’t want to be coddled or held. He just needed honesty. 

"I don’t think I trust myself anymore," Bucky finally said, staring at the picture of his scuffed up metal arm.

"I’ll be here until you can, Buck.  However long that takes. I’m not goin’ anywhere," Steve told him. "Til the end of the line, right?"

"Yeah, end of the line," Bucky murmured, never taking his eyes off the pictures. Steve figured that was all he was getting out of Bucky, so he turned to go, but before he left, Bucky spoke.

"Thanks Steve." Steve didn’t say anything or turn around, he just nodded as he went. He knew that if he turned back, he wouldn’t be able to keep the grin off his face, so he went to his room, to look at his own set of drawings and hope that Bucky would one day be able to see himself again when he looked in the mirror.


End file.
